


At once the planet dropped

by mazily



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And all the while my eye I kept / On the descending moon."</p>
            </blockquote>





	At once the planet dropped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lalaietha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaietha/gifts).



Yue skins her knee, and her father calls for all of the healing masters in the tribe. A circle of women—two as old as her grandmother, withered and grey with age; one not quite of marrying age—surround her. Water charged with something like stars, like night, flows across her skin.

Her knee no longer stings. The cut closes, gone like it was never there, and the healers stop their work. She feels empty. Alone. She starts to cry.

*

"My daughter, Princess Yue," her father says. The entire tribe applauds. She smiles and waves, smiles and waves. Her father puts his hand on her shoulder and leads her to her mother's spot at his table. She sits. One of the older warriors bends her chair high enough for her to eat comfortably.

"Thank you," she says. He bows his head in response.

Her father talks to the tribe. His voice is loud, booming. Yue wonders if her mother is hungry. There is another round of a applause, and the water benders begin their performance. The hair on Yue's arms stands on end. Her nose itches, pressure builds inside her head; she sneezes, and one her father's advisers looks over at her.

The food looks delicious. Yue's mouth waters, her stomach grumbles. She taps her fingers against the underside of the table, careful not to make any noise, and tries to decide what to eat first. She thinks she'll start with the seaweed rolls.

Her fingers twitch. Her father finally serves himself, and she lifts a roll onto her plate. Some soup, a little crab legs. Salty fish, sweet sauces. She eats slowly. Careful to chew every bite.

It feels like everyone is staring at her. She glances up from her bowl, and a group of soldiers look away. She concentrates on her food. Healer Yugoda walks up behind her father, whispers in his ear. Her father's skin goes grey, and a cold draft fills the room.

Yue bites into her squid. Her father stands.

*

Yue's toes cramp, cold and sore as she crouches in the darkest corner of her mother's room. She wraps her arms around her knees. Her father finishes his farewells. Kisses her mother on the forehead and stands, unsteady and smaller than Yue has ever seen him.

He turns to Yue, nods his head at her. "I'll be just outside," he says.

She waits until he is gone, his shadow no longer crossing the doorway. The room is quiet. Yue stands up. Her sleeves are too short, her dress a little tight around her shoulders; her mother teased her about it this morning, said "You're outgrowing your clothes faster than anyone can sew them."

Her dress is too tight. It presses against her chest, her lungs. She walks to her mother's bedside. Sits on the edge of the bed. There's a basin of water on the table nearby, and Yue clenches her fists to stop herself from throwing it across the room.

"Hello," she says. She doesn't know what else to say. Her fingers twitch, and she relaxes her fists. There are half-moon marks in the flesh of her palm. Her knuckles are pale, bone-colored.

Her mother doesn't talk, doesn't joke, doesn't laugh. She is still. Too quiet. Yue sits and watches her; she holds her breath and puffs her cheeks out, but her mother never reaches out to press her index finger against Yue's cheek.

Yue does it herself. _"Pop!"_ she says. Her eyes itch. She tells her mother about her day: her lessens were dull, dinner was good, she definitely didn't break the vase in the library. The entire tribe will say their goodbyes tomorrow; only a few unlucky sentries will stand guard against possible invasion.

The moon is full tonight. Yue can feel it under her skin—her parents have told her about her birth over countless sleepless nights—guiding the blood flowing in her veins like it controls the tides. When she was six, she told Healer Yugoda that just walking around, living, felt like sitting next to one of the soldiers bending the canals closed. Yugoda laughed. Yue ran to her mother, cried at her knees.

She wipes a fist across her nose, sniffles and tries to will herself not to cry.

"Please," she whispers. She looks up through the window at the moon. Her head feels foggy, full, like the moon is pulling her tears from inside her soul and out toward the front of her face. She turns back to her mother, and she cries.

She can't stop. It hurts, crying this hard, and she coughs. Her lungs ache. "Please," she says, crouching over so she can press her cheek against the blanket her great-grandmother made. It's cool against her skin. Soft. She wants her mother. She needs her mother back.

Her knees curl up against her chest, and she rocks back and forth a couple of times. Her entire body shakes.

She punches a stray pillow. She feels heavy; her limbs are relaxed, yet tense. She half-wishes for a Fire Nation attack, never mind that there hasn't been one in her lifetime, so she'd have a reason to run outside and break everything in sight.

A shadow crosses the room—a cloud passing in front of the moon—and Yue wipes her face with her sleeve.

The water in the basin ripples, splashes against the nightstand. Yue sits up. She lifts her hands, holds them palm out in front of her, and a stream of water jumps out to meet them. She concentrates on the feel of the air, the sparks of energy tickling her skin. She presses her palms against the water, moving her arms until they're directly over her mother's chest. She tries to mimic the hand gestures of the women who have healed every cut and cold she's ever had; a swirl, a bent index finger, a turn of the wrist.

Her mother moves.

A twitch. Her chest groans up and down, almost as if she were breathing. Her eyes blink open and closed.

Sweat drips down Yue's forehead. Her hands shake; she presses harder against the water, pushing it over her mother's heart. Her mother gasps. Groans. Lifts her head, pressing her forearms against the mattress. Yue doesn't know what to do. "Mo-," she says.

Water splashes against her mother's skin. Puddles form across the bed. Her mother—the body—falls.

Yue rolls off the bed and climbs to her feet. She screams.

*

Healer Yugoda ushers her into the healing tent, arm loose around Yue's shoulders. The other girls stare; they're mostly younger, and two of the smallest girls giggle to each other. Yue picks a spot that's hidden in the back, shadowy. She stands. Yugoda begins her demonstration—"First we concentrate on the injury," she says, and then she leads the water away form the basin with a sweep of her arm—and Yue closes her eyes.

The air feels still. Silent. Empty.

**Author's Note:**

> Title/summary from Wordsworth.


End file.
